


penultimate

by myria_chan



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Bilingual Pidge, F/M, POV Lance (Voltron), Pining, sort of like a list of headcanons, watering the plance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-11
Updated: 2018-11-11
Packaged: 2019-08-22 00:29:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16587227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myria_chan/pseuds/myria_chan
Summary: Plance + First Time(s) | Sometimes love comes in sets of firsts; others come last.





	penultimate

* * *

The first time they met, he gazed upon her with eyes searching for forever.

Her pretty face was twisted in a darkened scowl; long hair tucked in a messy ponytail on top of her disheveled head; fire in her eyes and venom in her mouth as Katie Holt was escorted once again out of Commander Iverson’s office for the nth time this month.

A string of colorful curses rang through the great halls of the Garrison—some of which so profane, they could make a grown man such as the Commander blush—as the young lady vehemently vowed to uncover the truth about her missing family.

 _She’s beautiful_ , Lance thought, _in a crazy, nerdy sort of way_ , watching a girl half his size stand up for beliefs twice as big as both of them, even if all the odds were against her better judgment—and yeah, he needed a little firebrand like that in life.

“Who is she?” Hunk asked.

“My future wife,” Lance said jokingly. Hunk gave him a dirty look because at this point, everyone was his future wife.

They watched as said _future wife_ kicked her escorting officers in the crotch, and promptly hid their amusement behind textbooks, scampering off the hallways before said officers could have the chance to suspend them.

* * *

Pidge was a name Lance akin to science, technology, robotics, polar opposite, teenage rebellion, and until most recently, peanut butter cookies—never a girl.

Girls were pretty, sparkly, soft tones and unattainable grace; not spunky, feisty, unbreakable spirit, goal-driven and capable as hell.

“What’s that, Ms. Katie? Can’t take another hit? Are you gonna cry to big brother and daddy—”

A shriek; Pidge leaped, her leg connected to the crook of his neck; the weight of both of their bodies knocked him off ground. Inertia yielded to force. The room spun in a dizzying spiral. Somebody yelped for victory in the background as Lance fell down head over heels for Pidge in the most literal sense.

That day, Lance was thought of the valuable lesson of that (1) girls came in all shapes and sizes, (2) never pushing Pidge passed her breaking point—because little Miss Katie Holt’s a certified tomboy and she knew how to play dirty in the playground.

* * *

The best part was that she didn’t know.

“Ti penso siempre.”

Her words passed by like a gentle wind, and for a moment, he was reminded of home. Still grinning, he brought out a piece of paper of all the words he would like for her to translate, and presses play on the recorder.

“My love.”

“Tesoro mio.”

“Words cannot describe my love for you.”

“Le parole non possonno descrivere il mio amore per te.”

“You’re my favorite thought.”

“Sei il mio pensiero preferito.”

“Your voice is the sweetest song.”

“La tua voce è la canzone  piú dolce.”

“I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

“Voglio passare il resto della mia vita con te.”

He contented his longing through moment like these.

He would tell her a fabricated story of how he would like to make a move on a girl, shower her with words of endearment and affection in a language hopefully he can enunciate without embarrassing an entire civilization.

Which was half a decent truth considering the girl he would like to hit on was sitting there, cross-legged, eyes hidden behind the glare of her spectacles, reciting words of love and adoration in a language she has full mastery to him.

_And only him._

Because she must never know.

She must never know how special she was to him. She must never know how her mere words affect his mentality. She must never know how his heart soared through the highest heights for a taste of what love would sound like coming from her lips. 

Because Lance believed Pidge was far too out of his league, and he’d rather die by inches from the heartache of never knowing what they could become, than the swift fatality of ruining what they already had.

* * *

Keith was the first one to confirm, courtesy of the Red Lion.

“Red loves Pidge,” he said to Lance, waited for his implication to catch on.

Lance looked back in rigid confusion, then in utter disbelief, before they settle into profound mortification.

“Congratulations.” Keith grinned; enjoying the sputtering mess he has made out of his successor, and tapped Lance on the back. “You’ve picked a winner.”

* * *

“I like you too,” sounded more like a threat than a declaration. Either way, Lance still couldn’t believe his ears.

There was no way a Katie Holt could like him back. There was no way a Pidge would like him back. Always he thought she was fond of him, would willingly tolerate his stupidity with equal amounts of patience and consideration in the name of friendship and camaraderie, would go through the lengths of publicly threatening a sentient alien being for his sake (although it was a dream).

She was far too level-headed, way too calculating to even consider him as a possible match.

Pidge sighed—long suffering and heavy—grabbed him by the fabric of his jacket, rose on her toes, and kissed him fully on the mouth.

He stiffened upon initial contact, a strangled cry trapped between his teeth before his hands cupped her cheeks, and melted; mind caught reeling in the sweet taste of her, the tangible softness of her skin under the rough patches of his, the delightful sound she made whenever he moved the slightest, her inexperience clashing boldly with her quite confidence, practicing to breath in through the kiss.

Their lips broke apart, hastily refilling their lungs with much needed oxygen.

“Convinced?” she rasped, spunky and fearless and without a care in the world.

He grinned, his lackadaisical humor finding the cracks of the lightheaded trance he fell under, “Not quite?”

His reply was a graceless snort as Pidge’s arms wound up his neck so he could bend down for another round, and relish the feeling of being loved in return.

* * *

“Don’t freak out,” she said, trapped in blanket of his embrace.

Don’t freak out. He repeated her instructions like a mantra. It’s just their usual bonding night. Just a night of videogames. Nothing romantic. Nothing grand. Just two of them hanging out in his bedroom surrounded by pillows and hushed lights, sipping milkshakes and munching cookies, fighting henchmen and final bosses all night long.

Everything stayed.

Nothing changed.

To which his mind begged the question: if everything stayed and nothing changed, how long had they been dating actually?

* * *

Lance told himself that this was the last time—head propped against hand, still his fingers through her hair, memorizing the lines of her face, wishing every moment would last just a breath longer than the last so he could take his fill.

He couldn’t possibly do this again, he told himself. He couldn’t imagine breaking his heart in half to share the best and worst parts with another; couldn’t risk having his weaknesses exploited or having his strengths augmented for someone’s sake; couldn’t live to sing another song, kiss another pair of lips; couldn’t dive into the realm of intimacy meant only for lovers if not with Pidge.

He felt the first stirring of the day, suddenly all warm and giddy, when her eyes finally open.

“Morning, wife,” his voice croaked, silently hoping the angles of the sunbeams were just about the right direction to highlight the lovelorn smile he was sporting.

She mumbled, “Good morning.”

Amber eyes still dazed with sleep, she caressed his face with a dreamlike expression that almost knocked the senses out of his system before boring their fullest attention on the gold band around her ring finger.

Pidge bolted upright in bed, hastily gathering the bedcovers over her bare skin.

“Calm down. Take deep breaths. Everything is fine. We’re just married. I got this under control.”

Lance was already rising up, grabbing the croissant and coffee cup from the bedside table and delivered them to her shaky fingers. “Eat this. You’ll feel better after you have caffeine and carbohydrate in your system. Then we’re just gonna roll of the bed. You can take the whole day in your lab, if you want. Breeze through security systems or hack your way into Garrison top secrets ‘til your heart’s content. But before that, we’ll just have a quick shower. Or go skinny dipping in the tub so I could wash your hair.” He touches a stray hand from her miserable bed hair and tucked it behind her ear. “I’ve always wanted to wash your hair.”

Pidge chokes on her coffee, a few droplets spilling out from her nose, and Lance falls in love all over again.

\--

(the end.)


End file.
